


Gilded Silver

by AppalachianApologies



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: !!, "Fun" Conversations between Malcolm and his Serial Killer Dad, Angst, Case Fic, Gen, Gil is a worried parent, Hand Tremors!, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Murder, Oh also, Serial Killers, There's Always Whump In My Writing :D, Whump, a quick little case fic, the whole shebang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25395103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: When one murder becomes two, and two becomes three, Malcolm realizes that there's a serial killer on their hands. As if that wasn't stressful enough, his father is determined to create a relationship, no matter the cost of his boy.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 59





	1. Pretty Pretty Princess

**Author's Note:**

> First Prodigal Son fic! Yay!
> 
> One trillion thanks to literally everyone on the Prodigal Son Whump discord server, you are all amazing and made me feel welcome in this community, and you're all inspiring, and I love you all, and you better accept my compliments because you all deserve it and yeah that's the tea :) you're all lovely :)

Both hands are white knuckled, the right clutching a phone, and the left clenching the inside seam of Malcolm’s pocket.

Absently, Malcolm knows that Gil and his team are eyeing him, all with suspicious lips pulled into a thin line. 

“Malcolm, my boy!” The manic voice calls through his phone’s speaker. “Why, I’m so glad you called! You know, I was just telling dear Mr. David here that-”

The profiler forces his jaw to unlock and cuts to the chase, “What do you want, Dr. Whitly?”

Martin clicks his tongue a few times before asking, “Why, no time for introductions? After all, this is no way to greet a father,” with faux sensitivity.

“I’m quite busy right now, and if there isn’t anything I can help you with, I really do need to get back to my job.”

“Ooh! Oh, tell me, a homicide, is it? Perhaps familicide? You know I’ve always been oh so interested in familicide. Even patricide or matricide by themselves is such an  _ exciting  _ ordeal, don’t you agree?” Martin gives a pleasant sigh, causing Malcolm’s hand to shake through the wool and polyester pocket.

_ “Why don’t you go finish your cocoa upstairs?” _

_ “Dad?” _

_ “Why don’t you go finish your cocoa upstairs?” _

_ “What’s in the box?” _

_ “...finish your cocoa upstairs?” _

_ “What’s in…” _

_ “...cocoa upstairs?” _

“Bright!” Malcolm’s head whips to the left, where Dani is standing at him, arms slightly outstretched, palms facing toward him. He knows that stance.

It’s the stance he uses when any individual is emotionally unstable.

Oh.

“Bright?” She asks again, voice softer now that she has his attention. This obviously wasn’t the first few times she’s called out his name.

“Malcom, who is that? A  _ lady _ friend, perhaps?” Malcolm’s heart jumps in his chest before his eyes fall upon the phone, still clutched in his hand,  _ Claremont Psychiatric _ pasted across the screen.

Before the profiler can react, Gil snatches his phone out of his hand, surprise, anger, and sadness painted in his eyes in the matter of a half second.

Using his best I’m-a-lieutenant-don’t-cross-me voice, Gil edges out, “Stop. Calling.” before hitting the red button with enough force that Malcolm’s surprised the screen doesn’t crack. 

Malcolm winces and tries to grab his phone back. “Gil, don’t-”

“What the hell, Bright? How long has he been calling?” 

“Gil, it’s fine.”

“Like hell it is!” Gil nearly shouts, throwing his hands up in disbelief.

“ _ It’s fine. _ ” He reiterates, grabbing back his phone. 

Dani and Gil’s eyes fall to his hand, shaking so hard that it’s a miracle the phone doesn’t drop. 

Malcolm quickly stuffs both of his hands back into his pocket and gives his happiest faux smile. “Shall we go back to the victims now? I’m sure Edrisa has information to share.” Without waiting for an answer, he pushes through their shoulder blockade, taking the few feet back to the bodies.

“We’re talking about this later, kid,” Gil mutters, but heads back to the body nonetheless. After all, they do have a murder to solve.

JT shoots him a look, lips pursed. “You good?”

Malcolm smiles even brighter, “Never better. What’ve we got, Edrisa?”

She glances up from the body, and stands once she sees the profiler’s face. “Well! It’s actually really interesting, see, although there are multiple stab wounds, well, more than multiple, it’s actually funny, ‘multiple’ comes from the greek-”

Gil clears his throat and gives a pointed, “Edrisa.” 

The mortician quickly dips her head in embarrassment, and continues the cadaver examination. “So, even though there are twenty six stab wounds, the cause of death is from a severe head injury. See?” She gently lifts the top of the head, revealing a raised gash. “Oh, and it’s recent. I’d say it occurred somewhere between six and four hours ago.” 

Malcolm takes a quick glance around the room and easily deduces, “From the coffee table?” He motions to a short table with the number “6” displayed clearly on yellow plastic. The closest edge is decorated with dried specks of blood.

Edrisa nods, “That’s what I’m thinking. It’s like we’re on the same wavelength!” She says happily, voice raising a few octaves near the end. “But here’s the  _ real  _ fun part,” JT rolls his eyes at her excitement.

Before she can continue, Malcolm squints his eyes and asks, “Is that nutmeg?”

“Yes!” Edrisa nearly squeals.

Dani looks between the two of them. “Nutmeg? What does this have to do with the guy who got stabbed twenty times?”

“Twenty-six,” Malcolm quickly corrects, “And in surprisingly low amounts, ingesting nutmeg can result in drowsiness, dizziness, confusion, hallucinations, and even seizures.” He finishes, as if he’s clinically reading a drug store prescription. 

Malcolm then stands up from the body and lurks around the man’s apartment.

He appears to be wealthy enough to live comfortably, and even has enough extra cash to invest in hobbies. The couches are new, as is his TV and mattress. Each of the kitchen appliances are also new, except the countertops are old, and the cupboard doors are chipping paint.

The profiler can’t help but grin when he finds the real culprit: A pile of spilled nutmeg running across the edge of the counter onto the floor.

Dani comes up behind him, “Jesus, I can really smell it from here.”

“Did you know that olfactory memories are some of the strongest?” Malcolm agrees, before crouching down.

He doesn’t need to be looking at her to know that she must be giving him a strange look. “Uh, right. What does this have to do with Simon Moore?”

“It doesn’t. And who?”

Dani sighs, “The victim?”

“Oh right. Of course.” Malcolm reaches out to touch the trail of spice before Dani pulls his hand back.

“They haven’t photographed it yet. Don’t mess with it.”

Malcolm opens his mouth to respond, but clamps it shut when his phone begins to buzz in his pocket. A quick glance and a tap on the red button raises Dani’s eyebrows.

“And who was-”

“No one,” Malcolm says with a smile too tight to be real. “So. Crime of passion!” He stands up dramatically, twirling around to face Gil and JT, standing a few feet outside the kitchen, both with their arms crossed. “Crime of passion, but one that was thought out. Premeditated. First degree murder. Take your pick,” He continues with a smile, “The murderer had to have known when the victim, Martinez-”

“Moore.”

“Right, when Moore would be at home. Not only that,” Malcolm walks back to the living room, carefully avoiding the body, “She would’ve had to know when he drinks tea.”

JT gives him a look of disbelief. “‘She’?”

With a manic laugh, Malcolm replies, “Of course! A wealthy woman, but she’s quite new to living the lap of luxury.”

This time Gil steps up, “And how did you figure that one out?”

“Well, if you’ll follow me a few steps to the left,” He begins to move back, not even bothering to see if anyone follows him, “You’ll see a lovely trail of approximately 100 grams of nutmeg-”

“You make it sound like a drug, man.” JT notes.

“Just because you can buy it at a store, doesn’t mean that it’s not a drug. Now, about three inches from the counter, we see a glass jar-”

“Malcolm,” Gil warns, “Please get to the point.”

The profiler grins, “I am! I am. So, glass jar. Dani, have you ever gotten a manicure?”

Dani is so caught off from the question that she doesn’t speak up for a few seconds. “I’m sorry,  _ what? _ ”

“Malcolm.” Gil mutters. “The point?”

“Her nailpolish chipped off!” He announces happily, “The murderer got a manicure, but it was fairly cheap, so the nail polish chipped off when she took off the top of the glass jar. See?” He asks, pointing with his pinky to a small speck of red in the middle of the brown powder.

_ Buzz. Buzz. Buzz _ .

Gil looks up fast enough to see Malcolm’s smile falter, but he pulls on a fake one a fraction of a second later.

Malcolm clasps his hands together, “So! Mani, pedis, anyone?”

The only answer is JT’s groan.

A few minutes later finds Gil and Malcolm in the Le Mans, the Lieutenant stealing glances at his kid.

Ever the profiler, Malcolm asks, “What would you like to ask, Gil?” Still facing toward the windshield.

Gil sighs, but answers nonetheless, “Malcolm. Why is your dad calling you?”

While Malcolm thinks of a response that would least likely cause Gil to develop an aneurysm, Gil changes his question. “Why is your dad calling you on your _ personal cell phone? _ ”

By the end, he’s white knuckling the steering wheel, and Malcolm can’t find it in his heart to be annoyed by the anger. He feels the same way.

“Dr. Whitly has proven helpful in the completion of our cases,” He begins, detached and clinically. “There’s an extremely high chance that he will continue to be helpful.”

“Yeah? And how’s helpful for your mental health, huh?”

“Gil-”

The older man takes his right hand off the steering wheel to hold up one finger, effectively shushing Malcolm. “No, just listen to me for a minute. Every time you see that man, I mean  _ every time _ you come back looking like you’ve just woke up from one of your terrors. You know that right?”

“Gil-”

Gil raises his voice to speak over him, “And it breaks my heart, kid. It breaks my heart, because it isn’t just a terror. You can wake up from those. But instead, you keep going back to see that man. And now he’s calling you. Now he has the ability to reach you whenever he pleases.” Gil sighs and adjusts both his hands on the wheel. “Do you see the problem?”

Malcolm ducks his head in what could be seen as shame in a lesser man. “I have it under control,” At Gil’s unimpressed huff, he adds, “I promise. I know what I’m doing.”

Gil stops at a red light and looks over at his kid. “You don’t.” He says plainly.

With a roll of his eyes the profile mutters, “You couldn’t possibly know-”

“Your tremors are back.”

Malcolm winces and shoves his hands in his pockets, even though it doesn’t matter. The damage has already been done.

Glancing up to make sure the light is still red, Gil continues, “The tremors are back for the first time since college. It’s okay to not have it under control, but you-”

Scoffing defensively, Malcolm informs him, “I could’ve had tremors in the FBI.”

Gil accelerates a little too quickly when the light turns green and laughs. “I wasn’t born yesterday, kid. They wouldn’t have given you a gun if you had a tremor.”

Malcolm leans his head against the cool window, fight having left him as quickly as it came. “Yeah. Well.”

With a soft sigh, Gil adds, “I’m just worried about you, Mal.”

“Me too.” Malcolm amends, cutting off any chance of continuing the conversation.

They sit in awkward silence until they arrive at the precinct, a few minutes before Dani finds Gil in the bullpen, and Malcolm in the Lieutenant's office.

Malcolm’s gnawing off the cap of a pen when a paper cup startles him. 

Dani takes a step back, “Whoa, sorry. Thought you saw me coming,” She motions at the cup. “‘S coffee. Figured you’d want some.

Malcolm gives a genuine smile up to her, “Oh, yes, definitely. You’re a life saver, Dani.”

She gives her own smile and answers, “It’s no problem.” She awkwardly sips on her own cup of black liquid, before gaining the courage to ask, “Listen, are you okay?”

The pen drops from Malcolm’s mouth. 

He quickly hides it with a charming smile, but Dani doesn’t take the bait. Quickly clearing his throat the profiler asks, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dani sighs and half sits on the table, setting her cup down. Malcolm feels like he’s just been called to the principal’s office. “You just seemed, I don’t know,” She trails off, trying to find the least offensive words, “Shaky.”

“Shaky?”

Dani nods fervently, determined to sleep in the bed she made. “At the crime scene. Your hands were shaking.”

Malcolm takes a sip of his coffee and grins. “That would be my psychosomatic tremor. It comes with the PTSD package, free of charge.”

The young detective blinks a few times, taken aback by his frankness. “Right. Well, it just seemed like it was really bad. Uh,” She swallows, cursing at herself for speaking like she’s back in high school giving a presentation in front of her sophomore English teacher. “Particularly after you got that phone call,”

“Wrong number.”

“We both know that’s not true.” She says confidently. “I’m here though. Okay? If you want to talk?”

Malcolm gives a slow nod. “Thank you.” He genuinely notes. 

“So,” She continues, trying to keep the awkwardness out of the conversation, “Any leads for the profile?”

The younger man nods, and launches into his ideas, “There’s a strong possibility that the murderer was a wife or ex-wife, except the fact that Moore was a widower. So I’m thinking girlfriend possibly, but that doesn’t make sense either.”

“Why?”

“If it was a girlfriend, there’d be no reason to kill him. There’s no money or riches she could gain because they’re not married. There’s no motive. If she was unhappy, she would’ve just broken up with him.”

Dani tilts her head to the side. “Maybe a daughter?”

Malcolm goes to reply, but Gil walks in, catching his attention.

He claps his hands together and announces, “Okay!” He begins before Gil can even take a breath, “Here are four nail salons that fit the expensive, but slightly shitty, manicures. We know that our murderer went to the salon at least in the past week, possibly even earlier. We’re looking for a woman who’s aggressively confident, and wants to boast that fact.”

JT then stumbles through the doorway.

“You okay?” Dani asks, eyeing him.

He gives a quick shake of the head and answers, “There’s another murder. Same thing, twenty six stab wounds.”

“No.” Malcolm mutters.

“Uh, yes,” JT argues, confused. “There’s another dead guy, I dunno what to tell you.”

Malcolm weakly pulls at his hair, “That doesn’t make any sense. This was a crime of passion, why would she do it again?”

Gil grabs his coat off his desk and with a long suffering sigh he answers, “Let’s go find out.”


	2. A Vexing Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malcolm maybe should've eaten more than a few Twizzlers today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite what Ao3 will try to tell you, this didn't take a week to get out! Time zones are a truly beautiful thing!
> 
> I also had a ton of fun writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I also may or may not have left this chapter on a cliff hanger...

The second murder had striking similarities to the other cadaver, but something still doesn’t sit right with the profiler.

It’s another man, this time married, and with a son. 

His body holds twenty six stab wounds, “All posthumously,” Edrisa notes with a hint of confusion.

“So,” Gil starts, “COD?”

Edrisa scoots to the victim’s head and circles around the mouth with her pinky. “See this? This is dried saliva, along with a bit of blood. Clear indications that he was poisoned,”

“Not nutmeg.” Malcolm notes, peering to the victim’s head.

“Not nutmeg,” Edrisa confirms. “I won’t be able to tell what type of poison the killer used until I get him in my lab,” She motions to the body, “Nor can I tell you if there could be multiple different poisons.”

Malcolm makes a noncommittal noise, causing Dani to peer over to him. “This fit the profile, Bright?”

With a squint, Malcolm answers, “Some parts, yes. Other parts? No.” He takes a quick breath, “Edrisa, other than the stab wounds, are there any other injuries?” After the mortician shakes her head Malcolm continues, “No defensive wounds?”

“Nope. Poor sucker probably didn’t even know what was happening.”

Gil and JT leave to question the frightened mother waiting outside the apartment, leaving Dani to make sure Malcolm doesn’t screw with any of the crime scene. How does she always end up on babysitting duty?

“Well!” Malcolm says, spinning around to her, “I have good news!” He winces before he continues, “I mean, as good as news can be about a possible serial killer,”

Dani rolls her eyes and says, “Just continue, Bright,”

“So,” He nods, “We know that the killer isn’t experienced. The stab wounds are sloppy, at all completely different depths, and some are even cut short by hitting the sternum. However, she is intelligent. She doesn’t leave anything behind. No hair, no fingerprints,”

“Except the nail polish,”

“Except the nail polish.” Malcolm confirms. “The problem is, the sloppy stab wounds don’t add up with the poisoning. It’s fast acting, and based on the lack of bruises, most likely ingested. Someone doesn’t carefully kill a man before violently stabbing him right after.”

With a shrug Dani mutters, “You never know with these psychos,”

Not quite knowing how to respond, Malcolm continues, “I also know that these are the furthest thing from random killings. She has to have a personal vendetta against all of her victims, otherwise she wouldn’t stab them. Once we find the connection between the victims, we find her.”

Dani sighs and notes, “Have any ideas on finding this woman?” When he doesn’t reply, Dani waves a hand in front of his face. “Bright? Hey, Bright? You good?”

As if shaking himself out of his head, Malcolm answers, “I’m fine. And no, other than the general area of downtown, I don’t know how to find her,” His voice softens at the end, and is even quieter when he adds, “But I know who does.”

He then suddenly turns on his heels, rushing out of the apartment, door slamming behind him. Through his peripheral vision he can see Gil and JT draw their eyes off of the victim’s wife to him. He’s pretty sure Gil calls his name, but he doesn’t have time to stop.

Malcolm exits the building and tucks himself into the alleyway next to it. 

“For the victim,” He tells himself, dialing Claremont Psychiatric.

His dad answers on the first ring, “Malcolm, my boy! I was just telling Mr. David about how proud I am of you. You truly grew up to be a  _ wonderful _ young man, didn’t you?”

Malcolm internal curses, pressing his eyes shut for a second before he cuts to the chase, “Dr. Whitly, I believe you could provide assistance in this case.”

The result is instantaneous. If Martin sounded happy before, he sounds absolutely ecstatic now. “Why I’d love to! You know, I’ve always wanted to be the dad that’s still involved in their childrens’ lives even after they’ve left the nest.”

_ “You _ were the one that-” Malcolm cuts himself off before Martin can continue to get in his head. “We’re looking at two murders, both planned out and executed by an intelligent ameature.”

The profiler can’t get the image of his father’s grin out of his mind when he replies, “Interesting, oh so interesting! Tell me, how do you know the killer is an ameature?”

“She’s-”

“Oh? A female?” Martin purrs, making Malcolm’s blood boil. “You know, back in my day, the serial killing industry was quite male dominated. I’m so happy to see that there are women now. Just really warms my heart, you know? Misogyny has no place in murder.”

Ignoring the statement completely, Malcolm continues, “It’s obvious that she’s never stabbed anyone before, and she’s using different poisons to incapacitate and kill the victim before ever laying a hand on them. It doesn’t make sense.”

“She has no wish to see the light leave her victim’s eyes, is that so?”

“But she’s still extremely passionate about the kills,” Malcolm counters.

“Tell me, my boy.”

“She stabs them twenty six times. She wouldn’t do that unless it was a crime of passion. The second half of the murders fit her profile, but the first half doesn’t.”

Martin clicks his tongue a few times. “Well, my boy, I think I may have just solved your little profiling problem.”

“That’s, that’s great!” Malcolm says, before he can mask his excitement. His father doesn’t need to know that. “What is it?”

He hears Martin give a dramatic sigh through the phone. “Unfortunately,” He starts, dragging out each syllable, “I seem to be out of phone time,”

“Dr. Whitly-”

“Oh dear. Such a pickle we’ve found ourselves in, isn’t it?” Malcolm’s sure that his father is giving him a devilish grin when he says, “However, I still have my visiting hours clear.”

“Dr. Whitly,” He tries again, but this time the dial tone is the only thing to greet him.

Malcolm rips the phone away from his ear, and uses all of his self restraint to not throw it into the brick building beside him.

He knows this is a trap. There’s no way that this isn’t a trap.

Martin is a narcissist, he’ll do anything for attention. Even withholding information that could save lives. All because he wants the attention of his son.

So yes, Malcolm knows this is a trap, he does, but lives are at stake. He can stomach a meeting with his psychopathic father if it means lives will be spared.

Coming around the corner with a concerned face, Gil glances to the phone his kid is clutching, and then to his eyes. He spends precious moments deciding the best way to question Malcolm about the calls, and isn’t able to get a word in before Malcolm.

“I have to go,”

Gil gives him an incredulous look. “‘Go’? Bright, you’ve never left a crime scene early,”

“It’s important,” Malcolm begins, as if that will quench the older man’s worries. “Besides, I have everything that I need to know about this one.” 

The profiler then turns to go, but not before Gil catches his arm and softens his voice. “Bright, tell me you’re not going to visit your father. Tell me.”

Malcolm puts up a sunny smile - one that Gil can no doubt see straight through - and lies through his teeth. “I’m not going to see him.” His jaw aches holding up the fake smile, and quickly leaves the alleyway, feeling only a bit guilty.

He’s saving a life. It’s fine.

He lied to Gil, but only because he can save the next victim.

_ It’s fine. _

The ride to Claremont is spent with trembling hands and measured breathing. Malcolm feels unreasonably blessed that the cabbie doesn’t try to make small talk, but he’s pretty sure that went out the window when he choked out the location.

Not many cabbies want to talk with someone visiting Claremont Psychiatric Hospital.

And honestly? Malcolm can’t blame that.

After quick nods and fake smiles between Mr. David and himself, Malcolm finds himself standing on the secure side of the red line. Martin immediately stands up to greet him, and Malcolm finds himself taking a few subconscious steps back.

“Malcolm, my boy!” 

The profiler feels sick when he looks up and sees a genuine smile.

“Why, it’s been so long since you’ve last visited! Tell me, have you gotten taller? I swear you’ve gotten taller,” Martin gives a soft sigh, and his lips curl into a less manic, but still creepy, smile.

Malcolm takes a quick breath and stands tall. “Dr. Whitly, are you able to provide any insight to the murders we discussed earlier?”

“So professional,” Martin says with a glint in his eyes, “So grown up. And yes, of course I have information for my boy. Won’t you sit and listen?” He asks, motioning to the extra chair in the corner.

Malcolm’s hand trembles when he answers, “I’m fine standing. What can you tell me about the assailant?”

Martin slides into his desk chair, and spends far longer than necessary getting comfortable. “Tell me, my boy, have you heard of a  _ folie le deux _ ?”

Squinting in confusion, Malcolm mutters, “There are two?”

“Well of course!” Martin laughs, “That’s why the death itself is dull, but the stabbings are  _ passionate _ .”

“One is orchestrating the kills, and the other can do what they please once the victims are already dead,” Malcolm finishes the thought, hands coming to a standstill.

The doctor smiles in pride before continuing, “Now that we have to create two profiles, what can you tell me about the murderer themselves?”

Malcolm blinks a few times, reaching into all of the corners of his brain. “Likely male, somewhere between 30s and 40s,”

“Good, good,”

“He only kills women, which may be compensating for a failed relationship, or the inability to keep one,”

“Good! Oh, you really  _ have  _ grown so much!” Martin’s teeth shine in the artificial light. “Now there’s still more, my boy. Tell me more?”

“He could be killing for sexual release?”

Martin clicks his tongue, “Tut, tut, my boy. So sad! You were on a roll,” Malcolm looks up at his father, which prompts him to continue, “He’s poisoning the victims. He doesn’t want to actually be there when the light leaves their eyes,”

“So the pleasure doesn’t come from the victim specifically, just the fact that he’s taking a life,” Malcolm murmurs, mostly to himself.

“A shame, really,” Martin starts, “Frankly, seeing the light leave the eyes of the innocent is quite enjoyable,” Mr. David stands up from his chair, causing Martin to put his hands up in mock surrender, “Now now, we all know those days are past me. Now tell me,” Martin addresses his son, “What do we know about the second accomplice?”

“She’s female. The stabbings are for revenge but…” He trails off, and Martin smiles.

“But what, my boy?”

Malcolm frowns. “She’s not capable of murder.”

“So?” He prompts.

“So the man finds her and offers her a way to get revenge. They’re working together only for mutual benefit, not anything else.” He concludes.

Martin claps his hands, and smiles as if Malcolm finished playing in a piano recital.

His mother always wanted him to learn piano.

Before Malcolm can get absorbed in the thoughts in his head, he turns to leave. He hears his father’s leash pull taught, but doesn’t look back. Even when he hears the cries for attention, “Malcolm! My boy, you can’t leave!”

_ You can’t leave. _

_ You’re here with me. _

_ You’re here with me forever. _

His steps falter, his hand shakes, but he doesn’t turn back. His father deserves this.

That doesn’t stop the trembling to continue all of the way back to the precinct. 

When he bursts into Gil’s office (closed doors have never stopped him, and he doesn’t plan on letting them stop him now) the rest of his team look up, all with different levels of concern morphed into annoyance.

Before any of them can voice their emotions, Malcolm spits out, “We’re looking at two people,”

Dani sets the file down, “Wait, what?”

“The profile wasn’t fitting,” Malcolm begins, sliding down into a chair across from Dani, “And I couldn’t figure out why. But it’s obvious. Painfully obvious. There are two people orchestrating the murders.” 

Grabbing a marker and leaning against the whiteboard, Gil nods, “Walk us through it, kid.”

Malcolm nods, and begins. “We’re looking for a man and a woman, most definitely unrelated. The man doesn’t get pleasure from killing a person, but simply the act of ending a life. That’s why all of the victims have been poisoned,”

“‘Cause he doesn’t need to be face to face with the victim.” JT finishes.

Malcolm nods in agreement. “The stab wounds were all post-mortem, and all done by a woman. In her mind, she’s not guilty. She gets pleasure from revenge, even if it’s not revenge in the form of death.” He takes a deep breath before concluding, “The man is overconfident, and the woman is nearly opposite.”

“How do you know?” Dani asks, genuinely curious. It’s a welcomed change of pace from the FBI.

“The woman had a cheap manicure. At first I thought that she suddenly acquired a large sum of money, but that doesn’t fit the profile. Have you all heard the phrase, ‘fake it ‘till you make it’?”

JT snorts, “I’ve been doin’ that my entire life,” Dani gives him a laugh.

“Basically, she’s getting all these manicures, probably new clothing or even a car, to put up the appearance of someone who is wealthy and confident.”

“Why?”

Malcolm shrugs. “So she can convince herself that nothing is going to go wrong, even though she’s working with a murderer.”

“Ouch.” Dani mumbles, mostly to herself.

Gil scribbles a few barely legible things down on the whiteboard and then turns to the three of them. “Any idea of where these people might be hiding out?”

“They’re not hiding,” Malcolm points out. “The man is overconfident, he’d never hide. He’s probably even enjoying the fact that we’re going after his trail.”

“And the woman?”

Tilting his head to the side, the profile answers, “There’s a good chance that the two of them are meeting often, otherwise they would never be able to function together this well,” Malcolm stands and walks the short distance to the half hidden city wide map. He makes a small circle with his finger, “Based on the manicure, she probably lives or works around here.”

“You’re sure?” JT asks.

Malcolm turns quickly, too quickly as it turns out, and watches his vision gray out on the edges for a second. Gil catches his elbow with a, “Whoa there. You good, Bright?”

Hastily straightening back up, Malcolm puts a sweet smile on. “Perfect,” Maybe living off two Twizzlers in the past 48 hours wasn’t the smartest decision. “I have a few places in mind that I’m sure we could get a witness out of,”

Gil gives a friendly scoff before leading Malcolm to a chair. “Oh, no kid. The only place we’re going is to a greasy diner to fatten you up,” Dani and JT both snort.

The pointed look Gil gives him assures Malcolm that he’s not getting out of this. “Alright, alright,” He surrenders, “Let me go home first?”

Although the older man looks suspicious, he doesn’t have enough evidence to say no to his kid, so he shoos him out with the promise to meet them at a diner a few blocks away.

True to his word, Malcolm goes home. He chomps on a few more Twizzlers, made sure Sunshine was fed, and then left.

...In the opposite direction of the diner.

He needs to find this woman before another victim is killed. Parts of the victimology still have him chasing his tail, and she’s the last piece he needs.

After Malcolm pays extra for the cabbie to go faster, he sits on the edge of a bench, watching shoppers stroll by on their lunch break. He makes awkward friendly talk with anyone who passes by, loudly announcing the terrible fate of the murders.

That’s small talk, right?

Out of the corner of his eyes, he watches any woman who suddenly shows signs of nervousness. Finally, he finds her.

The outward appearance and her slightly gaudy clothes certainly match the profile, and if her worried glances and nervous ticks weren’t enough, he can tell from where he’s standing that she’s wearing red nail polish.

Sure enough, when he makes eye contact with her, she immediately turns the other way and hastily shuffles off into the crowd. Although he’s not quite tall enough to keep an eye on her blonde streaked hair, he follows the general direction of her path until the shopping area turns back into the dirty New York streets.

Malcolm picks up his pace when he spots her again, turning sideways to slip by other pedestrians, all while ignoring the looks of any passerbys.

He’s finally making progress when a strong arm grabs his neck and forces him back into an alleyway. 

The profile instinctively bucks back, but he’s only rewarded with more pressure on his throat. He tries to call out for help, after all, there are hundreds of people walking down the street at any given moment, but it turns out to be a sisyphean task with the amount of air he has left.

Malcolm gets a few kicks in, but that just angers the man.

Evidently tired with the profiler’s theatrics - or just the fact that he’s still conscious - the man sends a well placed punch straight to Malcolm’s temple.

The world goes from gray to black in a matter of milliseconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As aforementioned, I absolutely loved writing this chapter, specifically Martin. He's literally so much fun to write. I love the diction that the writers gave him in the show, you can do so much with it!!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it, and if you're feeling generous feel free to kudos or comment!
> 
> I love you all, and stay safe!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you're feeling generous, feel free to kudos or comment! If not, that's totally okay, and thank you for reading! <3
> 
> And another thanks to all of the inspiring people in the discord you're all amazing and I love you all <3


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